


No place for us

by UnknownGirlClegane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownGirlClegane/pseuds/UnknownGirlClegane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not his place to tell the fucking King he was a small shit. Not his place to ask him what was wrong in that pretty, innocent woman he despised so much"</p>
<p> <br/>Because we can't get enough of Blackwater A/U fanfictions. Let's face it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No place for us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeresaTrav](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeresaTrav/gifts).



Sandor walked her back to her rooms, as the king had commanded him.  She was a pitiful sight to behold, as she placed one foot after the other, limping slightly, a bruise already  covering her left cheek like a dark shadow.

He walked right behind her, his eyes fixed on her auburn tresses. She was trying to keep her back straight, in case someone was watching her though the corridors. How naïve it was of her – no one would dare look at her, not openly, not when he was with her.

Sandor did not offer her his arm to help her. He was not a knight, only a dog. The sooner she would see it, the better. Touching her would only make it worse – make her think she had a friend, make him forget his place.

Strange enough, the little bird didn’t seem in the mood for speaking, much less for chirping some empty courtesies; maybe she was just tired of trying, knowing he would mock her and make her cry, maybe she had forgotten he was there. She kept silent.

That part of the castle was always quiet. Not many people resided in that wing of the Red Keep – Cersei didn’t want her favorite bird to find friends, and with them a way to fly away from her golden paws. They passed a few servants, and after a while no one at all. It was then that she spoke.

“It will never end, will it?” she said, tonelessly, stopping and turning to him.

Sandor snorted. “It will, if you can wait long enough” he rasped.

“How long would that be?” she asked, in a hollow voice. Her blue eyes seemed dead, her cheeks deadly pale but for the bruises.

“How could I know?” he asked.

She looked at her feet, and then at his scars. “They want to break me” she said. “In time, they will. And then I will never be strong enough to make it stop”.

He moved unwillingly, brushing one of her tresses with his calloused hands. “Then don’t break” he said, simply.

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t know how” she murmured, and started walking again.

Sandor was no knight, but he went to her side, and extended a thick forearm to her. Sansa took it, and he felt how weak that last beating had left her from the grateful way she leaned on him. Her scent reminded him of a green meadow, with a clear stream running and beautiful flowers all around; a quiet, peaceful place to rest.

“Thank you” the girl said.

He nodded. He would not mock her for her politeness, not today. He went back to the scene he had witnessed, remembered Meryn Trant drawing his sword and hitting her on the tight, and then on the back. Ser Boros had slapped her, twice. Joffrey had laughed and laughed, and Sandor had watched. Only that. Not his place to tell the fucking _King_ he was a small shit. Not his place to ask him what was wrong in that pretty, innocent woman he despised so much.

Sandor didn’t know why he cared so much about a silly girl, either. He had seen plenty of beautiful women, and paid plenty of beautiful whores to fuck him. Some of them had even been naïve, though not as much as this one.

They stopped out of her chambers. “Here we are, little bird” he told her, gruffly. “Time to get back to your nest. Have some sleep, if you can”.

Her blue eyes were so large as they lingered on him. She was trying very hard not to flinch at the sight of his ugly, scarred face. “How did you manage not to break?” she asked him. _I didn’t,_ he wanted to tell her. _I am not a man anymore._ She wanted only to be reassured, however, and she had had her dose of cruelty for the day.

“Think of your brothers and sisters. Think of your mother” he said, his voice hard and sharp like steel, and yet almost soft. “Let them think what they will, it makes no matter. Keep them out, and watch them. Learn from them”.

She paused. “Thank you” she said again.

Sandor had to speak. “I stood and watched as they hit you, girl. Don’t thank me. I am one of them”.

The girl shook her head again. “Sometimes you are cruel, but you don’t lie. And you have never hurt me”. Gingerly, she touched his hand, even so slightly. Just a little touch. “One day we will find our place” she stated. _Isn’t she afraid that I might tell the Queen, or her beloved Joffrey?_ But it seemed that she did not.

“There’s no place for anyone, little bird” he corrected her, spitefully.

“Yes, there is” she said, stubbornly. “Not – not like in the songs, maybe. Some place… better”.

“I thought there was nothing better than songs for a bird like yourself” he said.

“There is home” she said. Then her eyes were cold again, and she was gone, and the door closed behind her, and Sandor thought of how it would look like, a place to call home. He couldn’t think of how it would be – but he pictured the girl in it, smiling and laughing.

_No, there is no place for us, little bird. No place but this._

 


	2. No chirping left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant as a one-shot, but I have been convinced to make it longer.  
> Chapters will be short, but al least I can promise frequent updates this way, soo, enjoy :)

This time, they spared her face. Cersei had stormed and raged when she had seen the girl's face, left cheek swollen and grey for Ser Boros' blows. The little wolf had to be pretty for the court, lest someone would start to question the King's  _mercy_ _._  
Arys tried to keep some strength back as he punched her in the belly, but he was too strong, and the girl was not. She fell on her knees, coughing pitifully, her breath ragged. 

The brat smiled sweetly at that. Sandor stood still and watched.  
Trant helped her up, pulling her by the hair, and she cried in pain.

"She screams too loud" Joff wined, annoyed, and waved at the knight. This time the blow landed on her back, and she fell again, with a chocked moan, hitting the ground hard.

"Might be her wolf brother can hear her" the king said. "He wouldn't be so bold, if he knew what his stupid sister gets every time he challenge me". Sandor doubted that. Robb Stark couldn't care less for her sister, when he was winning every fucking battle. His uncle forces were keeping Lord Tywin's forces away from the capital.  _If_ _Stannis_ _decides_ _to_ _strike_ _now_ _,_ _we_ _are_ _doomed_ _._ _Even_ _the_ _little_ _shit_ _must_ _know_ _that_ _._

That was why Joff was enjoying every cry of pain that escaped Sansa Stark.  
The girl laid on the ground, seemingly unconscious. "You should not lay like a stupid bitch on the King's feet. It does not suit my betrothed" the boy told her. Sandor thought she would not answer, but a small voice was heard, coming from the little figure. "Forgive me, Your Grace". It was a weak squeak, and yet she uttered those words. She got up on her own, too. 

And she spoke again. "I am sorry my brother has offended you, Your Grace". This time her voice was more clear, despite the effort it took her to stand straight. "He is a traitor, and your rage is just".

Joffrey curled his lips. "Of course it is" he said, but he was somehow softened.   
"I deserved my punishment as well, for the traitor's blood that runs in my veins" the girl sent on, humbly. "Perhaps it would please Your Grace to strike me again".  
 _Well_ _,_ _well_ _._ Sandor was pleased with her.  _She_ _has_ _guts_ _,_ _this_ _one_ _._  

The king was caught unaware by her meek acquiescence. "It will not be necessary" he said, after recollecting his thoughts. "It seems the beating had his effect.

You  _do_ have the blood of a traitor in you, but you are a woman after all, and women are weak. May be your perverse inclinations could be corrected over time".

"I am most eager to learn, Your Grace. It is my greatest wish to become worthy of the honour you have bestowed on me, in choosing me as your betrothed". Sansa curtsied deeply.

"Very well" the brat said, a little uncomfortable. "You may go, now".

"Thank you, Your Grace" the girl said.

"Dog!" King Joffrey, first of his name, said. Sandor bowed. "Your Grace?".

"Escort my betrothed back to her rooms" he said.

"As you wish, Your Grace" Sandor said.

She followed him out of the room, quietly. As soon as the door was closed behind them, he turned to inspect her. She was pale, but that was to be expected. This time she was not limping, though.

"You did well" he told her. He did not know why he wanted to praise her. A victory did not end the war, as her brother had surely realised by now.

She bit her lip. "Not well enough" she whispered. "Another might know how to handle him, but not me. I am not like Cersei, or - or any other woman at court".  
"No. You grew up far away from here, a little bird leading songs in her nest" he said, mockingly. He mocked her because he did not know what to say, because he did not want to be kind to her. Kindness she had known all of her life, and she had turned soft because of it.

"I will not have you speak of it as if it was a fault" she said, rather haughtily.  _She_ _has_ _a_ _sharp_ _little_ _beak_ _._

He laughed. "But it is". Had she not learned anything? "What good has it done to you, to grow up among people who spoilt you with kindness?".

She stopped. "What good has it done to you, to be born in hate?" she retorted. As soon as those words had departed from her lips, she paled, her hand going to her mouth. Her eyes were filled with fear.

 _She_ _thinks_ _I_ _will_ _hit_ _her_ _now_ _,_ he thought, and in truth, he was angrier than ever. He grasped her wrist, swirling her around and pinning her to the wall. He bared her teeth at her. She would see the Hound, he decided. He had never showed her the worst side of him, had kept it aside, almost ashamed to let her see the monster that he was.

_Why_ _shouldn't_ _she_ _see_ _,_ _same_ _as_ _anyone_ _?_ _She_ _is_ _no_ _different_ _from_ _them_ _._

"I am alive" he snarled. "And will be. Going to keep this ugly head of mine on my shoulders a little longer, unlike you".

"Please" she breathed, and in her eyes he finally found the fear he was looking for. He took no real joy in the sight, however. How hard could it be to scare a little girl who was already surrounded with lions?

He released her abruptly. "I will take you back to your cage" he said, hollowly.  
She followed obediently, but she was no longer by his side. The girl stood just out of his reach, fearing he might touch her again, and let him go first.  _Good_ , he mused to himself.  _No_ _more_ _bloody_ _chirping_ _from_ _this_ _one_ _._  

He had not hit her, but he had watched. He was not better than his brother, in the end. The knowledge tasted bitter in his mouth.


	3. Drunken nakedness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa runs into a drunken Hound.

It was her maid that opened the door; a plain girl, one of Cersei's. She gaped at him as if the Stranger himself had knocked at the door, and in return he frowned at her. She was more than happy to let him step in, announcing him shakily before disappearing as fast as she could.  
Sansa Stark sat by the window, not fully dressed yet. She had been combing her hair, that fell all around her, a curtain of copper. She turned to him, wearily, the marks on her cheeks almost gone now. 

The girl had been good, he had to give her that. She had avoided further beatings, and had struggled body and soul to please her golden king, much as she loathed him. She smiled, she cheeped catchy nothings, praising the stripling for every fucking breath he drew.

Sandor was there, and had observed her at leisure. She was becoming better at lying. He despised her for it. He had never needed lies to survive, trusting only his sword for that. Sure, she was only a girl, not a fighter. He had no taste for liars, however.

Aye, it had been him telling her to hide her true self, to forget it, to learn how to districate herself into the elaborate labyrinth that was the court.

He did not expect her to heed his advice. He had expected her to try, not to succeed.

Just as he had expected himself not to give a fuck.

"The King requires your presence, little bird".

"What for?" she asked him, eyeing him in distaste. Since their last conversation, she had never bothered trying to be polite.  _Cannot_ _blame_ _her_ _for_ _that_ _._

"How would I know?" he snorted.

"Very well. Wait for me outside as I dress myself".

"You think I'd spare a glance at a skinny lass like you? The king's asked me to see that you don't waste more time than necessary trying to look pretty" Sandor rasped, his mouth curling cruelly. 

Without another word she took the dress that rested on one of her chairs and slipped inside it, struggling with the laces as best as she could. He did not offer her any help, tapping on the hilt of his sword, watching her.

In the end, she was done. They set off, not a word passing between them until they reached the Throne Room. Then, before she could push the doors open, he put a big hand on her shoulder. "Careful, wench" he said. "He is in one of his foulest moods".

Her eyes lit with fear, then with resignation. He pushed the heavy doors open, and got inside.

Later, that day, when the girl made her escape untouched, Sandor felt strangely relieved. Every time he had to face her pain he felt filthy. It felt the same way when he fucked a whore - pleasure and pain, but then, only shame and misery. 

 

***

 

Drunk as the dog he was, he stumbled in the dark. He had found himself a whore, a pretty young one. Money was not a problem, not with the money he had won at the Hand's tourney. Littlefinger was a filthy bastard, but he trained his girls well, and the redhead was no exception. Better than most at hiding the disgust she felt for his face.

Had he been sober, he would have used the caution to choose someone who did not resemble so much the king's  _betrothed_ _,_ but he had drank his fill, and did not care. Many a bugger watched Sansa Stark with lust. She was a beauty, foreign and yet quiet. He was just one of many.

Those he passed ignored him. He was a big shadow to fear and avoid, nothing more. Everybody knew it was not a good idea to piss him off when he was in his cups.

He saw a small figure then, turning the corner. Unmistakable, even when her flaming hair were hidden under a hood. He quickened his pace, cursing under his break as he almost tripped on his own feet. He reached her, grabbed by the hem of her skirt. "What are you doing here?" he asked her.

A ray of moonlight shone through one of the window, displaying her dismayed features. He wondered how terrifying he must seem, his scars an uneven pattern of darkness and light. It made him angry to think that not even dusk could hide him. "I could not sleep" she said, barely audible even in the quietness of the Keep at night. 

Sandor could understand. He knew how it was like to live in a nightmare. "Try and tell the Kingsguard if they find you wandering alone at night" he grumbled, "your  _precious_ _king_ might question the truth of it".

"You  _are_ a brother of the Kingsguard" she said, and he snorted. "I don't count myself among those little buggers" he said.

"I know" she replied.

"I will take you back. The Keep is no place for a stupid girl at night". Mayber he should take her. That would teach her a lesson, teach her not to trust men. It would serve her right. He wanted to punish her for doing nothing wrong, for not being able to blame her, or despise her.  
But he didn't. He was not Gregor.

"I don't want to go back" she told him. 

"No, I bet you don't. But you'll go with me" he rasped.

"Are you drunk?" she said, suddenly realising the way he swayed on his feet.

"Aye. Told you once, didn't I? Wine is good, almost like a warm woman".

"Or killing" she stated, calmly.

"Or killing" he agreed. He gave her a gentle push. "Come".

"I wanted to go on the the roof" she said, not moving. "See the city".

"This shithole? What is there to watch?". She shrugged. "Makes no matter" he said at last. "You must go back, whether you want it or not". She looked at her feet. "I wish I was as strong as you" she muttered.

"And what would the girl do if she was?" he chuckled.

"I would go around as much as I liked" she said. "You wouldn't dare to stop me. No one would. I would fight my way out of here".

He snorted. "But you are not. And you will follow me, or learn what happens to little birds who dare challenge dogs".

She followed him. Sandor took her through narrow passages and empty halls. Less chance she would be seen this way.  _I_ _should_ _let_ _them_ _see_ _her_ _._

But he didn't. 

"You should not drink so much, you know. Why do you do it?".

"How else should I spend my time?" he snapped.

She did not answer. Didn't know what to say, most like. Not to a drunkard like him.

"There, little bird" he told her, when they reached her quarters. He touched one of her ringlets, unable to stop himself. It was soft, and smelled of soap and pretty woman.  She stood incredibly still. Was she afraid of him? She should be. "A woman flowered you are now" he blurted out. No answer came. "And yet you are but a girl".

"Why are you telling me this?". Her voice was shaky. He felt the urge to kiss her, but he was not drunk enough, or bold enough, or stupid enough. And she was not his. "I've had way too much wine, little bird" he said. "Go inside. Lock yourself in. Sleep".

"I hardly sleep anymore" she said. She sounded sad, not afraid. 

"I know" he rasped. 

It was true, he knew. Sleep was for summer and for children. They had lost too much for that, and it would never change. Never.  
He left her, hearing the soft thud of her door closing.  _That_ _is_ _right_ _,_ _girl_ _._ _Lock_ _them_ _out_ _._ _Nothing_ _can_ _hurt_ _you_ _if_ _you_ _are_ _alone_ _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, an update! These chapters will serve as an introduction, but the day of the Blackwater is coming...


	4. Don't be late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor lies for Sansa.

Her rooms again. Her scent everywhere, feminine and flowery, clean and sweet. It haunted Sandor even when she wasn't present, sometimes, when he thought of how it would feel like to touch her like a man touches a woman.

The girl was slipping inside one of her dresses, but this time he had turned away, giving her the privacy she needed - although he did it mostly for himself. He did not wish to see her body, for then he would think of her when he took his pleasure, fucking himself to relieve the pressure he felt all but too often after seeing her. 

Sansa Stark would be queen one day, and he was no one.

Sandor waited patiently, listening to the soft noise of smooth silk brushing creamy skin. Her skin, white and flawless, just the kind of skin a man would dream of kissing, tasting, nibbling softly. 

"You done, girl?" he said, before silence got unbearable. 

"Not yet" she answered apologetically. "I am sorry".

"The King will not like it if you keep him waiting" he warned her.

"I know".

Joffrey had not tortured her for days and days, seemingly satisfied with her courtesies, but it could not last forever. The boy was thirsty with blood and tears, and she was the easiest prey around. 

_They_ _will_ _milk_ _blood_ _from_ _her_ _as_ _if_ _she_ _was_ _a_ _fucking_ _cow_ _._ And Sandor would watch.

"Hurry" he said.

"If you had sent for my maid, as I had asked of you...".

"...the king would not have liked it. Told me to keep an eye on you".

A small hand touched his shoulder. "Will you help me, then? The bodice will not fasten" she stated.

He wanted to say no, but could not refuse. She turned her back on him, a smooth, peachy back. Sandor wanted to run his fingers down her spine, making her shiver under his touch. Instead, he fumbled with her laces as ungraciously as he could, but the girl didn't complain.

"There" he rasped, almost in her ear.

"Thank you" she murmured. "I just need to brush my hair, and then...".

"No more waiting" he snapped. "We have to go".

Sansa only nodded.

They hurried to Joffrey's private parlour. Outside, Ser Mandor Moore stood silent and still as a stone, his dead eyes surveying them as they approached him. "Out of the way" Sandor growled.

"You are late" Moore told him.

"Move" Sandor said, coolly. He opened the door and let the girl inside.

Joffrey Baratheon looked quite annoyed as well. He watched the girl with a smile that anticipated torturing her subtly. "You made me wait" the brat said. "I am your  _King_ , Sansa. Kings don't wait".

"Your Grace..." Sansa began, paling.

"My fault" Sandor grunted, without helping it. Both brats turned to him; the boy seemed both confused and irritated at his interruption, while the girl looked at him with her blue eyes widened, a small glimmer of hope inside them. 

"Tore her pretty gown apart when I stepped on her fucking skirts. She had to change again" he said, keeping a mildly bored expression, faking a cruel smile as he lied. If the girl had any sense, she would rip one of her gowns as soon as she got back to her chambers.

The King roared with laughter at that, not noticing the grateful look Sandor had earned from the little bird. "Would that I had seen my dog trip on a woman's skirt".  
Sandor huffed. "Not my fault if they make those buggering dresses so long" he said.

"Which dress was it?" Joffrey asked the girl. 

"The red one, your Grace" she answered readily. "The one you were so kind as to give me for your nameday". Embroidered in crimson and gold, Lannister colours. Sandor had to fight to hide a smirk at that.

"A pity. It was a fine dress" the boy said. "Dog, you must pay my betrothed back" he proclaimed. "You will have another dress commissioned for her, and you will pay for it".

"Your Grace" he bowed slightly, doing his best to look disgusted.

"Two dresses" the girl said, firmly. They both turned to her. Sansa Stark looked at Sandor as though she was truly displeased with him. "Your Grace, that dress was very dear to me, since  _you_ had gifted it to me. Surely, a present from the King is worth double that of a dog". She spoke haughily - a very good piece of acting.

The King laughed again, and when he looked back at his betrothed, for the first time in a long while, he looked genuinely  _pleased_ with her.  _The_ _fucker_ _does_ _not_ _see_ _through_ _her_ _act_ _._

"Very true, Sansa" he praised her. "You heard her, Hound. Two dresses, and she will choose the pattern. Make sure you do not shame me. Remember it is the future  _queen_ you are dressing. Even a dog like you, with no taste for finery, must know the  difference between a wrap of cloth and a queenly dress".

"As you say, Your Grace".

 

 

***

 

 

Later, he accompanied her to the Godswood. He had often walked with her, taking her back to her rooms at the end of the day, or fetching her from there when the king was bored. He had not, however, had the occasion of escorting her somewhere else.

When they reached the place, and they were safe among the trees, she turned to him. 

"You lied for me" she said. "I know you hate liars. I am grateful, my lord". She spoke the truth, he could see it in her eyes. 

Sandor curled his lips. He felt a great bitterness in him, because he had lied, and for her sake too. What a fool he was, to take such pains for a girl who would soon succumb, for a lady who would never survive long enough to be the Queen. 

"Spare pretty words for those who want them" he said, angrily.

"I know you don't like courtesies" she retorted. "I don't care. I am not Joffrey, and I will always be thankful for kindness".

"But I am not kind, little bird".

"You did not have to help me, but you did. How do you call that, if not kindness?" she frowned at him. "Why are you so determined not to be liked?".

"Being  _liked_ won't keep me alive. Or you, for that matter" he told her.

"It kept me safe today".

He laughed mirthlessly. "I am the king's dog, girl. I am not paid to keep  _you_ safe".

"Why did you do it, then?".

"I take no pleasure in seeing girls tortured. I am not my brother. I am a sword, and a sword only craves for the blood it takes with its steel" he rasped.

Sansa Stark looked at him, and shook her head, wearily. 

He waited for her as she prayed in silence, kneeling in front of the Heart Tree. He did not mind. He was used to waiting.

But then, when she got up again, she turned to him. "May I ask one thing?".

"What is it?".

"Do you think that Stannis will win?". Words had come of Stannis. Tywin was too far away, and Joffrey's  _uncle_ was approaching faster and faster. "Think it likely" he said, blankly.

"If he does, what will become of you?".

"I will die" Sandor said, simply. "And you will be passed from one cage to another, so that the new  _King_ can use you for a bargain - make that wolf brother of yours kneel before him" he added, for he knew that was what she truly wanted to know.  
"Robb would not surrender the North because of me. He hasn't done it with Joffrey" Sansa said, her voice calm and emotionless.

"Then he will lose, and you will be made to marry some lord or another" Sandor told her. "One the King wants to reward with Winterfell, and your cunt".

She cried a single tear, but made no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were all so cool and encouraging in your comments, thank you :) and sorry for the delay :)


	5. Opening a cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwater is on fire!

The screams of men burning, dying. Horses neighing and falling over bloody corpses. Swords shrieking as they kissed steel and pierced flesh. That was a song Sandor knew well.

The starry, blue curtain of the sky had been lifted, leaving in its place only a gigantic wall of green flames. The whole fucking bay was on fire, spreading like only piromancer piss could. Even the water was burning a darker shade of green, and on the ships men died and died, piercing Sandor’s ears with their cries of pain.

It was not meant to be like this. Sandor did not fear death – would even have welcomed her, in time. What a cruel mockery the gods had planned for him! The only death he could fear was in front of him, the battle was lost. There was nowhere to go.

The guard of his greatsword was slick with fresh blood, as he clutched his hand around it. The flames had robbed him of everything. They had robbed him of his dreams of knighthood and love, they had robbed him of his face, stripped him of his humanity. Now they meant to take his life as well, the little that remained of it at least. Would the gods be sated then? His life had been worth nothing.

He had drowned himself in blood and wine, fancying himself contented, but he was thirsty for something more. When he killed, it was not death he cherished, but power, that power he had never had, the strength he lacked for carrying on his justice against his brother. When he passed out drunk on his bed, or on the floor, it was not wine he enjoyed, but the little, fragile truce he made with sleep – hoping to forget his misery and his emptiness, even for the shortest of times.

_Fire will not take me, not today_ , he swore to himself. And as to the Lannisters, they could go and fuck themselves for all he cared. They deserved to die, and soon they would. He deserved to die as well, but he knew of someone who didn’t. He would open a cage that night, he decided. Try and be a buggering knight.

*

The girl came. He had waited for her. “Lady” he heard her whisper, for she had not yet noticed his presence. She had no warrior instinct, this one, only pretty songs and tears.His hand covered her mouth, as she let out a muffled cry of horror.

“Quiet, little bird” he rasped in her ear, and she nodded. She relaxed a little, but he knew she was still scared. Perhaps she had smelled the blood that had dried on his fingers.He released her then.

“If you scream, I’ll open your throat with this” he told her, showing her the dagger. Sansa Stark was shaking, but she nodded again.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, boldly.

“Stannis has won” he said. “Won’t be long before he gets inside the Keep”.

She closed her eyes, and breathed heavily. “I see” she said at last, her voice just a  tiny whisper.“I came back for you” he blurted out then, blaming the wine for it. She shifted her attention back to him, surprised. “I am going”.

“Where?” she murmured.

“Somewhere that isn’t burning” he laughed emptily. “Fuck the Imp. Fuck the King and his whore mother. I lost everything”. He sat down on the bed again, feeling sick. Why had he come to her? She would never go with him, and any moment there only made his death more certain.

He rose again, then paused to regain balace. His head was spinning, and he felt the urge to vomit. He went to the door, but stopped. The wine made him talk instead. “I could keep you safe” he said, not turning to look at her. “I would kill anyone who tried to harm you”.

She said nothing. His rage boiled up higher. He was a fool, an ugly, rabid dog. He should not have come. He was no knight – just like that time, when he had stolen Gregor’s toy to play with it. He had dreamed of being one, but this was not the place for foolish dreams and hopes. People with dreams were the one that died first. he should have known better.

“The bird does not chirp” he said. “Mayhaps I should make her sing instead”. He seized her by the wrist, baring his teeth at her. Sansa Stark looked at him with wide blue eyes. The green light was enough for Sandor to see his own reflection inside them. A ugly face, the face of a killer – of a monster. 

“Sing” he snarled. She squeaked as his fingers dig into her tender flesh. He was hurting her for the first time, but she had always been afraid of him way before that, though he had never harmed her.

“SING!” he roared, shaking her. He wanted to kill her, to take her, and he was angry because he  knew he could do neither.

But the bird did not sing. The way she looked at him was queer, as if there was something quite unexpected in him. Sandor saw her raise her free hand – a small, white, pretty hand – to his face, where it rested on his good cheek. She touched a wet spot, and then Sandor knew why the fear had fled from her countenance like it had never been there at all.

Something wet glistened on her fingers, but it was not red, it had no color at all. The girl raised her gaze to him again. “I will come with you”, she whispered.

*

They rode out of the city, chased by the howling of dying men. They did not speak. The girl was frightened almost out of her wits, and Sandor was too drunk and too weary to say anything to her. She rode behind him, like she had the day of Myrcella’s departure to Dorne, when he had saved the girl from the angry mob.

The girl had fetched only a few belongings, that were hanging now from Stranger’s saddle. A small bag to say the least, for a lady.

Sandor had still less. Food, but enough only for a quick meal. Wine, but only half a flagon. Gold he had a-plenty, however, and he meant to use it soon.

Had Stannis’ victory been less certain, he would have headed North, but it would be madness now. They would be trapped between Tywin’s army and Stannis, and Sandor could not protect the girl from two bloody armies.

So they rode South.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know,I know, I have changed stuff. That's the funny part though. Things would have gone slightly different if Sandor and Sansa had had the chance to talk more, if Stannis had won... Still kept some stuff... I am curious to know what you guys think :D


	6. The Kingswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor takes Sansa as far as possible from King's Landing.

The girl had fallen asleep hours ago when he finally deemed it safe enough to stop. A restless sleep it was, troubled by nightmares judging from the way she jerked and moaned against his chest.

They had reached the northern border of the Kingswood. The trees would offer them some shelter from men and wind both, for tonight he would light no fire. He had had enough of fires for a lifetime. Among the trees he stopped then, and he slid down Stranger’s saddle, taking the girl down with him. She did not wake, but It was better this way. Better let her rest, so that they could ride faster in the morning.

She was a little thing in his arms – weighted almost nothing, just like a real bird. She was soft and smelled sweet like a woman, but she was still a girl in many things. He laid her on moss, went to fetch her cloak, and covered her with it.

It was quite a sight, Sansa Stark. Beautiful and pure, she slept under a tree like a nymph. Her auburn hair were curled all around her like a second cloak.  Sandor remembered how it had felt to feel her touch against his cheek. He had cried, he remembered. He felt weak, and did not like it.  

He went to the other side of the meadow. He laid with his back against a tree, without removing his armor, his sword in his lap. Sleep was a luxury, but he could afford an hour or two of it, till dawn. Stranger needed it as well – the stallion had rode with him in battle, and had carried two people for miles after that.

So he slept.  
   
*  
   
Sandor awoke before her, of course, when a shy ray of sunshine made  its way through the branches to touch him.  He opened his eyes – nothing had changed. Stranger was there, huffing softly. The girl was as well, a little bundle of clothes and red hair.

He went to take a piss, then to look for water to fill their flasks. He broke his fast with the few gulps of wine  he had left, but he did not touch the food. The girl would need it more, thin as she was.

Sandor had kept near to a little stream, and with its water he cleaned his wounds as well as he could.  

When he got back, the girl was still asleep. He wondered whether he should wake her, but in the end, he took her in his arms again, and put her on Stranger’s saddle, careful not to let her fall, mounting behind her. She was so tired, she kept sleeping.

Sandor was glad he did not have to face her yet. He rode for two hours, thinking, wishing he had taken more wine with him. He also  bent to sniff her hair, every now and then, to smell her scent, and every time got angry with himself.

In the end, the little lady stirred and sighed, and she was awake. She gasped, startled, when conscience came back to her, and memories with it. She turned to look at Sandor, and he looked back at her.

She blushed, and looked away.

“How long have we been riding?” she asked, in a low murmur.

“Since dawn” he said, dryly.  

“How long have I been sleeping?”.  

“All night, and all morning”.

She nodded. “Where are we?”.

“Kingswood”.

“Oh” Sansa said, as if she hadn’t noticed the trees around her before. They were not riding fast, since the path Sandor had takes was narrow and steep, though safer. “And… where are we heading?”.

“The bird has a lot of questions, it seems” he grunted. “Going south, girl. Where, I don’t know yet”.

“I thought –“ but she blushed, and stopped.

“What?”.

“I thought you were taking me to Robb” she said at last.

“We can’t pass Tywin’s army right now” he told her. “They would kill us both”.  
She said nothing, but he could feel her disappointment. He wanted to yell at her for it. He had saved her, had he not? Was it not fucking enough? What else did he have to do?

Just then, however, her stomach started to rumble so loudly that the girl jumped, startled. She looked genuinely abashed, but said nothing of it, proper little lady that she was. Sandor snorted and bent to take the food from his bag, extending it to her. Bread and cheese was all that he had, and the girl grimaced. “Thank you” she whispered anyway, taking the loaf and breaking it in half.

One he offered to him, but he shook his head. “I have broken my fast hours ago” he said. What a stupid dog he was! He hated liars, but how many times had he lied for her already?

So she ate everything, despite both bread and cheese being stale. Sandor hoped it would suffice until dinner. He would try to hunt down some rabbits, maybe something bigger. He was starving himself, and his wounds hurt. And the girl, she knew nothing of it… but, had she known, would she have cared?  
   
*  
   
He left her with Stranger, charging her with building a fire. He set a few traps in the wood, though he doubted he would take something in them – not before the morrow, at least. More than an hour later, however, he caught two fishes swimming idly in the small river, and went back to the little lady.

When he reached the camp, he found her balled up against a tree, sobbing desperately with her forehead against her knees. She had not heard him come, so Sandor watched her at leisure, and felt his heart sink. Was she miserable because of him? has she repented going with him, leaving the Keep? The thought of him tasted bitter. He dropped the two trouts beside the wood piled up neatly to make a fire – though nothing was burning.

Startled, she looked up, and jumped on her feet. “I thought you had left me!” she sighed.  

“And leave my horse behind?” he snorted, fighting against the relief he felt inside his chest in knowing she dreaded the idea of his leaving her. “Thought I had told you to lit a fire”.

She sniffed. “I tried. Robb had taught me how to do it, but I can’t”. She picked a small handkerchief from her pocked and rubbed her eyes with it. “Of course the bird can’t” he mocked her. “Come here, then. Watch”.

Sansa obeyed, gingerly approaching him. He showed her how to arrange the logs properly and how to use his old linchpin to finally start a fire. She watched, her pretty features composed into a most serious expression. He gave her the linchpin. “Tomorrow, it will be your work” he rasped simply. Best let her think he wanted her to be useful.

The fire had been set nicely. Even Sandor was glad to have it when the night fell and the cold came. He cleaned the fish, not trusting the bird with that job, and put them to roast on the fire. Meanwhile, he started to remove his armor.  

“Would you like me to help you?” she asked him, shyly. Sandor challenged her with his grey eyes, expecting her to give up. She blushed and squirmed under his scrutiny, but she did not take her offer back. In the end, he nodded. Her pale, slender fingers – so delicate at needlework – were clumsy with buckles and strings, and made everything slowly, but he would not have told her so for the world.  

Sandor merely grunted some advice every now and then. He felt exposed, almost naked. It was good that she did not know he had weaknesses. That she didn’t know she was one of them, that he was stripping him of more than his armor.  
In the end, it was over. She whimpered when she saw his shirt stained with blood, but she said nothing, and nor did he. He recalled hearing some stories of fair damsels attending some knight’s wounds, but he was no knight, and sure as the Seven Hells that awaited him once dead she did not want to touch him.

When the fishes was ready, he gave her  the bigger one. If she noticed, she did not say so, but she wolfed the food down her throat, and then sighed contently.

Sandor felt a queer sort of pride at the sight. She would not be alive if not for him, she would not be free. Maybe she could see that as well.

The wench tried to be of use, cleaning the remains of their small dinner and his knife, putting his armor in its bag one piece at a time, even giving Stranger an apple Sandor had found in his hunt. He sat down and watched her all the while. He could she how conscious she was of his gaze, and yet she pretended not to notice.

She was so pretty. Prettier than anything he had ever seen. Prettier than Cersei or any other woman – and kinder, and sweeter.

When it was time to sleep, she put together some dead leaves to sleep on. He gave her Stranger’s riding blanket and she accepted it murmuring a few grateful words. She wrapped it around  herself, huddling a little closer to the fire, while Sandor tried to stay as far away from it as possible. He told her to sleep, wishing to keep watch for a little while at least, making sure no one was near.

They were, however, completely alone. Sandor spent an hour looking at the girl who was sleeping peacefully a few yards away. He had seen nothing like the innocence she radiated in her slumber. In the end, he got up to cover her with his spare cloak as well. That stopped her from shivering.

And then he went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all you readers and commenters, and for leaving kudos:)


	7. Go on we must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is ill.

They rode along the road that cut the wood in two until dusk. Only then did Sandor decide to return back to the deeper wilderness, lest someone should see them.

The girl rode behind him, but she had been restless all day, and seemingly unaware of what it did to him to have her body pressing against his back and her arms around his belly.

He found out why when he got down Stranger, and roughly grabbed her by the waist. She way she clinged to his forearm even after her small feet touched the ground, he could feel that she was tired, and from the way she stumbled to the clearing he had chosen as their nightcamp he guessed she must have saddle sores.

He grumbled at her for it, calling her weak, mocking her for being too delicate a thing to survive on her own. The bird said nothing at all, just looked down at her feet wearily, and Sandor felt worse than ever for it.  

He had not meant to be cruel, but cruel words were all he had. He wanted to talk to her, but he did not know about what; he never spoke to ladies unless it was strictly necessary, and this one was prettier and more ladylike than all the rest of them combined. He felt unequal to the task, so he mocked her, but the more he did that, the worse it got.

Sandor skinned the rabbit as the girl awkwardly went on her knees to struggle with the fire. When she was done, she sat as far from him as she could, still wounded by his words, perhaps. Sometimes she stole quick, anxious glances at him, but always turned away when caught.

“Still can’t bear to look, can you?” he asked flatly, as he removed the last remnants of skin from the hare.

She colored. “No, my lord, I – I just cannot watch – I do not like the sight of blood” it was a lie, but kindly spoken.

“Men died of the Blackwater. Some did to protect your pretty little neck as well, little bird. I bathed in blood and salt knee-height, while you ate and drank and listened to some fool playing some mock-tune with a fucking harp”. With his heel, as he spoke, he dug a little hole. Once he was done disemboweling the rabbit, he threw the bloody organs in it and buried them, lest they should draw some beast. “Remember that. And don’t call me my lord. I am none, and I’d thank the Gods for it if they existed”.

“How should I call you, then?” she spoke in a small whisper.

“Not lord, not ser. Call me Hound if you like, or don’t call me at all. I care naught for your bloody courtesies anyway”. Again, as soon as those words escaped his lips, he felt angry with himself.  

“I am sorry” Sansa Stark said again.

They ate in silence, and then the girl went to sleep, as Sandor removed his armor on his own and tended to his wounds. She did not seem to notice, but why would she? She was a fucking highborn lady. she thought he lived to serve her, just like anybody else. Still, he noticed she had said nothing of her pain either. it pleased him.  
   
*  
   
They rode on, and on, and on, the road seemingly rolling in front of them without end. They spoke not a word – the Gods only knew what was going on in the girl’s little red head, and as to Sandor, he was dead tired. He had not eaten well in days, since before the battle, and he was tired. His wounds had not recovered as promptly as he had hoped, and the lack of food could be responsible for that  as well.

He found, however, something he had hoped to find. They stopped hours before twilight, both so fucking tired they could hardly be expected to drag themselves on for much longer. There were three thick, big trees next to a pond on fresh, clean water, their branches bending on the clear surface, hiding them from view as well. A roof, even if made out of leaves, was good.  

When, however, he dismounted from Stranger and turned to take the girl, he saw that she was  deadly pale and that her eyes were dull and almost devoid of expression. He all but dragged her down the horse, and her legs were shaking so that he had to carry her to the trees.

“My legs” she whispered, answering his dry, brief questions. But when he made to push her skirt upwards to examine them, she squealed and fought with tears in her eyes, and even kicked him right on the chest, right on one of his own wounds.

Sandor cursed at her and disappeared among the trees, swearing loudly without caring if anyone could hear him. He had wanted to help her. He knew it was his  fault, for he did not know how far a lady could ride, and even if he had known, it would have made no difference. They had to run away, and fast. He had done what he had to, but he had also felt guilty for hurting her.  

 He set some other traps for food, chewing obscenities, but in the end he got back to her.

She sat with her back against one of the trees, staring languidly into the fire. When he stopped right in front of her, she looked up with dread.

  
“If I had meant to take you, I would have by now” he told her, trying not to be frightening, but failing. The girl looked pale and terrified still. “I won’t hurt you” he growled, squatting  next to her, and this time, when he forced her gowns upwards, she let him.

He lifted the skirt as much as he needed, and no more than that. The pale white skin of her thighs was reddened and swollen, plagues already forming.

So he took his white cloak and ripped one edge, and then cleaned it with boiling water inside his helm. Then he wrapped her legs with it, all the while struggling against the wild fantasies that raged inside him.

He wanted to lay her on the grass and take her, but he didn’t. he couldn’t, thought her white legs were soft and inviting, and her cheeks glowing red with embarrassment.

He did nothing instead.

“Thank you” she said, and, “I am sorry”.

Sandor was sick of hearing her say that she was sorry, but she was grateful, and of that he could not complain. They ate what was left of the rabbit, though it was not much, and wild tart apples that grew in the forest and that the girl didn’t like at all, though she forced them down her throat for hunger.  

When their short, silent meal was over, she walked slowly to him, and wordlessly began to strip him of his armor. Then she went to the pond, and dipped some rags into the water, and with those she helped him clean his wounds. As she did it, Sandor watched her. She is beautiful, he thought, for the umpteenth time, inhaling her scent as her hair tickled his neck. Beautiful and kind.

She was done all but too soon. For the first time in his life, Sandor was sorry he had not received more wounds, and he laughed at himself as he went to sleep, the feeling of her fingers still lingering on his skin.  
   
*  
   
The following day was worse. Sandor had to stop to let the girl rest, and then he made her ride on front, so that she could sit with both legs on one side, and maybe rest. She did not, but at least they had managed a good meal with what he had caught with his rudimental traps.  

It would not be long before they got out of the wood, but Sandor would gladly defer that moment. The woods were safer, the girl too weak.

She was feverish when they stopped to rest, but Sandor was no maester, and knew naught of healing. The fact that she did not complain was worse - he admired her for it, and felt useless.

"Where will we go?" she asked him. They were eating, though the girl had to struggle with every bite to keep it down in her belly.

"Dorne" Sandor said, though he had not realised he had settled for it.

"Why?".

"They have no love for lions. Or for Stannis, I think".

She looked at him as if she wanted to say something, but all she I uttered was, "I see".

He wondered if she was happy with his decision, but decided she could not be. All she wanted was her family, and he was giving her Dornishmen.

"Hound" she said again, after a time.

"What?" he growled.

"I - I do not feel well" she said, in that tiny voice of hers. Pale she did look, and sickly.

"There is nothing I can do about it" he told her, flatly, wearily almost.

"I know. I - I am sorry".

"Sorry for what?" he snapped. "Did you bloody plan to be sick?".

"N-no" Sansa said, voice faltering.

"Then stop saying it" Sandor said. "Quit the damn apologising. Will do no good to either of us".

She bit her lip, hard, and nodded. She was fighting against tears. She did not want him to see her cry, most like. She looked so wretched there, so small, so helpless. He had felt like that too, when he was a pup and his brother towered above him. To her he must look just like Gregor - a tall, deadly brute, savage and bloodthirsty.

"We will go slower tomorrow. Give you time to rest" he found himself saying, somewhat softlier. "But go on we must".

"I know" the bird said. "I know".  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter:) trying my best 4 frequent updates!!!!


	8. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's fever gets worse.

Her fever did not get better on the morrow, but neither did it get worse. He set Stranger at a slow pace; it would take them longer to exit the forest, but he did not dare to ride in the open when the girl was scarcely able to stand straight without help. Her skin was covered in perspiration and her eyes wet, though she was no crying. She was breathing heavily, but again she uttered not a word of complaint or reproach.

He made frequent stops to allow her to recover, hoping that would help her, and yet for all he knew it might only make things worse.

The evening, when they stopped, he ripped the edge of his tunic to add to her bandages and protect her thin skin from breaking. She thanked him again, but he did not answer.  

He forced her to eat, for the girl would not have swallowed a bite if not for him. Not long after that, she stumbled behind a tree and threw up everything, and emerged with tears of shame and weakness. "I am sorry" she told him, when he went to her, chewing curses, offering her a flagon of water to clean her mouth. "You have made a lot of effort for that food. I am sorry".

Sandor had told her not to apologise, but she looked so pitiful, so earnest in her regret, that he grumbled something unintelligible and took her in his arms, carrying her to his bedroll.  

Sandor gave her all the blankets save from his old, worn-out cloak, tossing them ungraciously at her feet, as if he was angry with her for needing warmth.

He lit a great fire next to her to keep her warmer still, though he made it seem like he needed flames only to boil some water.

He took her wrist to feel her pulse. It was frantic, but strong. "How do you feel?" he asked her, coolly.

"Sore. Weak" she told him. "Cold. Hot. I don't know" she mumbled.

"It would be madness to go on tomorrow. It would kill you, most like". Again, his voice was cold.

Sandor had not expected it, but she made a chocked sob.  

"Why in the Seven Hells are you crying now?" he snapped at her, outraged.

"I am useless" she moaned. "I am slowing us, I know. It is all my fault. They will take us and bring us back, and I will never be free again, and you will die, and it will all be my fault". She covered her pretty face with her hands and balled under the blankets.

Sandor didn't want to soothe her. He was afraid that she might see the side of him he only had for her, the side he was ashamed of having. But he did have it, there was no denying it.

"Don't spend your pity on the likes of me" he said. "If I die, so be it. I don't fear death, little bird".

She did not seem soothed at all at that. "You are not strong. Hardly a bloody surprise. The only steel you've ever handled was a needle, most like. Your septa never thought you'd end up on the road with a man like me, did she? Nor did you".

She looked at him, and he could tell she was clinging to those words. "Arya - my sister - she would not be as useless as I am. She was always in the yard, with my brothers. She would know how to lit a fire or ride all day or hunt rabbits or - or-".

"You are not your sister, no more than I am by brother" he interrupted her, flatly. "No use on crying over what we can't change".

"But you told me I was useless, and called me a stupid, weak girl" Sansa argued, new tears appearing at the corners of her beautiful eyes.

"Aye, that I did" Sandor said. "What of it? I am a dog, and you are a lady. My words are worth nothing".

"You won't leave me behind, then?".

"No" he answered, feeling eager to cut the matter short before - well, he did not know himself.  

She sniffed. "Thank you" she uttered weakly.

There was a lot of thanking when it came to Sansa Stark. Sandor found that he did not mind, for she was not lying. She knew lies were worth nothing to him, it was plain from the solemn way she spoke to him, to assure that he believed in what she was saying.

Sandor dared not leave their camp, fearing she might need him while away, that she would fade like a ghost as soon as he turned a way from her.  

Food would have to wait, and they would make do with what he had caught before. He cut half an apple in small dices, which he fed her slowly, one little piece at a time, with a cruel joke on how much she truly resembled a trained bird, mild and submissive.

Every time her pretty lips touched his fingers, Sandor could feel their softness, their inviting wetness. What a fine thing it would be to trace their shape with his thumb, and then with his tongue.  

The girl kept the food down, and Sandor kept himself in check.

Not another word passed until dinner ended, and the darkness shrouded them protectively.

   
   
* 

   
"How did you learn not to be afraid?" Sansa asked him, looking at him from being her long eyelashes. She spoke so low it was hard to hear her, but he had good ears, like a true dog. The girl wanted some distraction, so he gifted her with an answer.

He poked the fire with his stick. "I have seen death. A lot of it. Men died when I stuck my sword in them, and I saw their eyes as they clung to the last threads of their small lives" he said, tonelessly. "They did not want to die, but they did all the same, and one day, I will follow them" he let out a dark, hollow laugh. "You need to be alive to fear, little bird. You have to be alive to feel pain. Once your life is taken from you, there is nothing else that can hurt you".

"But there's nothing good to be found there, either" she argued. "If you are right, if the Gods are nothing more than another song, then this is the only time we get to be happy".

He gaped at her incredulously. "There is no such thing as happiness, girl, no more than there are gods. Thought I'd taught it to you. But little birds never listen, sor do they?".

She paused a little, her eyes fixed on the fire.

"I have been miserable" she said, and her voice was soft and sweet. "In King's Landing I was. But before that - before that I was happy". She bit her lip. "And even in King's Landing, it never was only misery. I knew that my family loved me, that they cared for me. If I died, they would cry for me, so death is not only nothing, not when you are loved".

"Not anybody has the privilege to be loved, little bird. Most people die without anyone caring about them" he told them, regretting those words as soon as they escaped him.

"You are not very nice" she said, and there was something akin to a challenge in her blue gaze. "You are cruel and mocking with everyone. You like being like that. But you have shown me kindness, sometimes. When you came to take me away from that horrible place, you were".

"Aye, and what bloody reward did I get for that?" he said, mockingly, but she did not flinch at those words.  

"If you died" she said, quietly, "if you died, I would remember that you were kind, that you protected me. You were the only one that did it. Your death wouldn't be just nothing. I would not forget what you did for me".

Sandor watched her, and she struggled not to avert her eyes from his face. They faced each other, neither wanting to break that gaze, to let the other win. In the end, for once, he did.  

"I need some rest" he said, and left her, running from the truths he had seen in her bright, innocent eyes.

  
  

*

 

   
He woke, startled, when he heard a noise. Short of breath, the girl had dragged herself out of her snug refuge of blankets and stumbled to the nearest tree, and was now shaking with nausea, though she had not eaten enough for something to come out.

Sandor wondered if he should get up and help her, but in the end, he didn't. He had helped her enough. He was no fucking nurse, and he was not a good man.  

He remembered her words from earlier, promising him that his kindness would not go unrewarded. They had hurt. He wanted no reward, he wanted no one to know what he had inside. He had been careless around the little lady, and it was not good.  

So he laid there, wrapped in his light cloak, suffering the cold and yet feigning to be asleep. Every time she bent with a chocking sound, Sandor listened, but in the end it was nothing, only a distressed belly, and she returned to her bed of fortune, laying down.

He heard her sob. It was plain she thought him asleep. "Holy mother" Sandor heard her whisper,"source of light and kindness". A prayer, only a murmur. If the gods were true, Sandor doubted they would hear her tiny voice, weak as it was. He heard names of loved ones as well, though her tone had lowered and he was too far to understand. At one point, he heard "Hound".

Was she willing to get rid of him, or was she praying for his welfare?

No, he decided. Sansa Stark was kind, but she could not care for him, if not as her ticket to safety. She was praying for him to turn during the night into the Knight of Flowers, maybe, or maybe to wake up in Winterfell and learn that it had all been a nightmare.

But it was not only a nightmare, and the only kindnesses she received were from him, and she didn't even know of them.  

All she saw was a ugly, bitter killer, who had taken her with him out of pity, or in hope of a ransom, and who regarded her as something hardly better than parfumed horseshit.

Sansa Stark was no different from the others. She would never see past the Hound. Hells, why should she? There was nothing else but the Hound, not anymore, Sandor reminded himself. He was the Hound. He would always be the Hound, the killer. He would always be a sword, dirty with blood, reeking of sin.

At least, she could not see his heart. At least, she did not know she could hurt him.  
But then her breathing changed, soon after sleep had claimed her. Sandor noticed because he had not fallen back to sleep, waiting for something, but not knowing what.

It became more erratic, irregular, and Sandor was on his feet before he knew, and bending over her. The little bird was flushed and yet a little greenish, covered in sweat and dirt.  

"Little bird" he called.

She answered nothing. Did not wake. He shook her, softly at first, then with renewed energy. She was shaking.

"Hound" Sansa said, once her sad blue eyes had opened and found him by her. Her teeth were chattering. Sandor felt a fool, having let the fire languish unattended.  

"You made noises in your sleep" he informed her.  

"Not feeling - well" she sighed.

Sandor didn't know if she was worse or only tired. He left her, but only for long enough to put two fresh logs on the fire, rekindling it. "Less cold now, girl?".

"Better" she agreed, though she did not look better, except for the lack of trembling. Sandor would gladly had slipped under the covers, keeping her warm with his body circling hers, but she was a lady, and a lady would never allow such a thing.

What woman would let him touch her on her own free will, whatever the reason?

He would not touch her, not against her will. He could not, like that night, the one of the Blackwater. He would not hurt her.  

But he was not a fucking hero, and he could not save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I am back! Hope you like this! A longer chapter, and I had fun writing it.  
> Also, thank you all for reading, and for all your support via kudos, comments and so on. :D


	9. The man in front of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolves and fever.

Sandor awoke in the middle of the night, feeling light fingers shaking him lightly on the chest. His hand was on his dagger even before he was fully conscious again, but then he saw her, large blue eyes filled with fear.

"What?" he asked, and then he heard the howls. He grabbed the girl roughly, noting how hot her skin still was, and pulled her closer, fumbling with the other hand for his sword.

"Stay by the fire" Sandor told the girl,handing her the knife. "If I tell you to, take Stranger and leave".

She nodded, afraid.

Sandor got up on his feet, ignoring his bones aching for lying on the hard cold ground. He drew his longsword, his grey eyes scanning the trees, trying to pierce through the darkness. He could discern nothing, but he could hear noises; the crinkle of dead leaves, muffled growls growing nearer and nearer.

In the end, three shapes emerged from the bushes. Three wolves, famished but with eyes as fierce as could be. Sandor cursed inwardly. It would be hard to kill those bastards, he knew. They were quicker than any human, and far more hungry for blood and food.

Sandor moved slowly to his right, standing right between the wolves and the girl behind him. "The horse" he urged her, speaking in a low growl without looking at her. "Be quick about it".

He had no way to know if she had obeyed him, for just then the biggest wolf leaped towards him, his fangs bared to intimidate him. Sandor slashed him with the tip of his sword, but the wound was not deep enough. The wolf barked furiously, and Sandor tried to hit him again. The other two beasts interposed, attacking him.

Then there was just fighting.  

Steel cutting the air, claws mimicking it, long teeth closing only inches from his body, darkness coming to life.

Fight, fight, fight. The rhythmic sound of his blade that moved through air, entering fur, muscles, bone.  

No fear, no thought.

He killed the smallest first, the skinny one, consumed by hunger. He was on him, and its head rolled on the ground next to his companions.

His right arm hurt like hell, blood tickling from it, but it didn't matter. If not for the blood loss, he would die eaten by the fucking wolf. He was fucking tired after days and days of endless riding and scarcely any eating. He wasn't going to last long, but he did not need to.

The wolves came closer, growling. Sandor growled back.

Then something flew past Sandor,hitting the big wolf right on his snout. Sandor turned to see Sansa Stark, pale but determined, cradling a bunch of rocks in her arms. She threw another, and the wolf yelped.

"What are you doing? Get the fuck away from here!" Sandor snarled. If he was going to die for her, he would not take her down with him as well. He had not saves her by lions to be eaten raw by wolves.  

She ignored him, resuming her activity.

It seemed that Sandor had no choice but to kill the fucking beasts. He launched himself at the one he had wounded earlier, roaring in frustration. The wolf jumped as well, and they collided midway. The impact was strong, especially with his wounds, but Sandor moved to avoid any mortal injury and tried to land a blow.

"Hound!" he heard the girl screaming, and turning he saw the wolf aiming at his throat.

He roared and swung his weapon. A squeal, and the beast fell, cut in two. There was only one left, but when Sandor roared at it, it yelped, defeated, and disappeared again in the dark.

Sandor sighed, all strength seemingly abandoning him as the heat of the fight extinguished itself. He felt a dull ache where an old would had probably reopened, and the cuts on his arms hurt like hell. They did not need to be deep to fester, and he prayed that didn't happen, not when the girl was still too weak to take care of herself.

As soon as the thought of her returned, he checked around for her. She was on her knees, pale and shaken and her eyes still shining feverishly. Sandor felt cold. Might be it had been too much for her to handle - the fever and the fear, at the same time.

He let go of his sword, letting it fall with a clanking noise on the ground, near the furry corpse of the wolves. He went to her, ignoring his pain.

"Are you all right, girl?" he asked her, squatting next to her.

Sansa merely nodded. Of course she would be crying, he thought in seeing tears rolling down her cheeks.

Sandor took her in his arms again, carrying her back to her little nest, and she clung to him as she clung to life - desperately.  

She had put her arms around his neck, something he had not expected, but when she let go of him, she was covered in blood - hod blood.

"You are hurt" she whispered.

"Aye" he said, simply.

"Let me help you"

"You can barely stand, girl" he snapped. "I'll see to my wounds. You rest" he told her, more softly.  

Sansa nodded. "You were very brave, you know" she told him, as she covered herself with the furs, watching him as he exposed the cuts on his arms.  

"I did what I had to, little bird" he said. "You should have as well. I told you to run, and you didn't. That was foolish".

"I could not survive on my own" she answered. "And... And I could not leave you like that. It would not be right. You have done so much for me".

"Then wasting your life was no way to thank me" he said, curtly. He spoke as if to reproach her, but in truth, he only wanted her to be safe. "You need to learn how to survive. There's no shame in that".

"There's no shame in that, maybe. Yet you risked your life for ne. And I don't believe it, when you say your life is worth less than mine. Every life is important, you know" she said sleepily.

Sandor focused on his cuts, avoiding her gaze. "Mayhaps. Or maybe not. Your father taught you this, I'd say. Pretty words about honour. If the world was a kinder place, there would be room for that shit - or for your pretty songs. But it is not. It is an awful world, this one".

"No, I don't think that. It is only people that are awful".

Sandor laughed at that. "Aye. The bird is right. People are shit".

"But people can change" Sansa added, shyly. Maybe she was trying to suggest he could change too. Sandor did not think he could.Nor did he want to.  

"No more talking for tonight" Sandor said, still not looking at her. "Save some strength. Tomorrow I'll let you rest".

Sansa nodded again and yawned. "I wish you a good night, ser".

"I am no ser" he muttered, after a while, but she was asleep already. Sandor could see her features at the light of their campfire. It was beautiful and strangely peaceful, her lips curled in a small, small smile.

He could die for that smile, Sandor knew. He had never been a good man, he never would be, but for her, he could die.

  
   
He let her sleep, faithful to his word. He went to relieve himself not far from their camp, fucking himself quickly into release. He was hard as a rock, and he tried not to think of the girl, and failed. He failed shamefully, her body fluttering in front of him like a threat the whole time.

He found fruit as well. When he got back, he even skinned one of the wolves, roasting it on the fire. Wolf meat was not good, but it would have to do.

The smell woke her up. She sighed softly and stirred, and she opened her blue eyed, resting them on him.  

"Awake already?".

"Yes" she said. "But I feel rested, somehow".

He watched her. She looked better too. Her cheeks had an healthier glow, and her eyes looked livelier. "Feeling better?".

"A little" she confessed. "And I am very hungry". Her belly rumbled in agreement, making her blush, and making him bark out a laugh. "Good. We will have to move on the morrow".

She darkened at his words, but nodded once. "As you say".

She approached the fire, slowly, and after the slightest hesitation she sat next to him, keeping a proper distance between them. Sandor pretended not to notice.  

"Is that...?" She asked, pointing at the meat that was roasting on the fire.

"One of those wolf bastards? Aye" he shrugged. "No use wasting it".

He carved a huge piece of meat for her, and she accepted it graciously. She ate quickly, throwing her good manners away for once. He laughed at her for it, and she blushed deeply. "No reason to be all polite with me. You are half-starved. Eat" he told her. "It tastes like shit, but it I'd better than an empty stomach".

She made a sound that looked almost like a nervous giggle. She listened to him, wolfing down the food eagerly, even asking him for more. The girl was indeed half-starved. She did not feel the need to throw up afterwards, which was good.

Afterwards, Sandor took off his dirty shirt again, examining his cuts. They looked well, so he cleaned them with water, feeling the nervous gaze of the girl on him the whole time.  

"Thought you were too afraid to look at me" he said, and she started. "Don't bother denying it, little bird. I am not a handsome fellow, I know that as well as you do".

She was playing with the hem of her cloak, nervous. "I was afraid of you" she admitted. "But - because you look so angry all the time. You frightened me".  
"And now I don't?".

"A little" she confessed. "But you are not half the monster Joffrey was".

"No" he agreed, wearily. "I am a simple man, girl. I eat. I drink. I kill. You know what to expect from me, at least".

She nodded. "We are heading to Dorne".

"Aye. If we can reach it, that is".

"The Martells hate the Lannisters. They hate your brother too, don't they?".

Sandor looked at her, surprised. "Aye. He killed their precious princess. Elia, that was her name. He raped her and killed her, the blood of her son still on his hands". He spared no detail. Perhaps he wanted her to see how different he was from his sick brother.

"They might hurt you for it" was all she said, not willing to dwell on the horrors he had painted for her.

"Mayhaps" he said, with a shrug. "I am a Clegane, and a Lannister dog at that".  
The girl squirmed on her seat. "Then why Dorne?".

"Thought I had told you already. Where else could I take you to?".

"I don't want you to die because of me". She said those words sweetly, no doubt believing them. It was painful for him. He had never had anyone who cared for his life before, and she had more reasons to hate him than anyone.

"That is what men like me are for, girl" Sandor rasped. "They die for their lord, or for gold, or for a woman. But they die all the same".

"But if you don't" she said, "if you live, and keep me safe, then what? I have no coin. I have nothing that I could give to you, for-".

"I don't do it for the gold" he snapped, so angrily she gasped and blackened. "I am my own dog now. I have gold. I have my sword. I have my horse. I don't seek a fucking reward. You wouldn't know what to give me if you tried".

"Then why are you helping me?" she said, in a tiny whisper.

Sandor gritted his teeth. "Why do you care?".

"You are all I have left!" She cried, standing up abruptly. "You say you need nothing but your gold and your sword and your horse. Well, I don't have anything. I have no coins, no weapons, no abikities, no one to care for me but you. I am all alone in this world, and the one man that wants to protect me treats me as if I was a burden, and I am afraid! How am I to know that you won't leave me, or - or die?". she was shaking with sobs, looking the portrait of misery.

Sandor had never thought he would hear anyone speak to him like that. The girl was crying, afraid that he might grow tired of her, afraid of losing him... Though it was because she needed him, it was a sweet thought all the same.  

What was this feeling he had inside his chest, awakening after a long time?

"Fuck" he cursed. "I told you I would keep you safe, didn't I? I don't lie. You should know that".

She went on crying.

He got up and stormed away.  

  
   
He spent the remainder of his morning by the small stream they had been following. Its waters were clear and calm, and he occupied himself in chasing after the silvery fishes that were dancing in it. It was hard, and he did not achieve much, but it served to keep his mind occupied until the sun had reached its apex and had once more begun its descent towards the horizon.

It was maddening. He was angry. He did not understand why, but so it was.    
Sandor felt tired. He had wanted nothing more all his life than to kill his shit brother. Had worked for it, gaining the prince's trust, taking his own place by his side. One day, he hoped, Joff would give his dog the chance to complete his revenge.  

It had been a hard life, and he had tried to sink his misery in wine, drowning those memories of past comfort and kindness until they became faint echoes he could scarcely hear. He had maimed himself, ripping his heart out, and had thought it a necessary sacrifice; after all, what else was there to lose? The day fire had embraced him, he had lost everything.

Then this stupid girl had come, nothing more than a child, untainted and innocent, and he had hated her for being so. At her age, he had been half a monster already.

She was mocking him - why had the Gods deprived him of sweetness and love, and left her with them?  

Life had taken its toll on her too, and Sandor had realised that he had never really tried to wound her. He was helping her the only way he knew, hardening her, and hating himself for every word that had pushed her closer to truth, to ugliness, to him.

He had thrown all away. His place in court, the small power he had gained with it. Gregor lived, and Sandor was running, and he knew there was no going back. He was forever doomed to be an outcast, not only in name but in anything else. People would come for him, wanting his head, and he had Sansa Stark to protect too. A fucking lady. A woman.  

Sandor was angry, yes. Though he had always been unhappy, he had at least had some sort of balance. He had been feared and respecred. He had been favoured by the King.  

All that was left of it was some gold and the girl. A frightened, sickly bird, too weak to survive. And what could he do about it?  

He thought of her. It was already too bad that she had those eyes - so beautiful in form and colour, so deep, so full with expression. She was beautiful from head to toe, however,and still kind, and still young, and fresh, and hopeful.  

He did not know what to do with her. Every touch seemed to threaten to crush her, be it a blow or a caress. As to words, he had none. Nothing sweet, nothing he could give without betraying his weakness.

Sandor was away for hours, but in the end, he got back. Part of him was worried over her health, and part of him was feeling slightly guilty for leaving her alone, in such a state - for being angry without reason.

She was there, by the fire, curled up in his white cloak, sobbing so heartbreakingly Sandor felt the pang of guilt expanting. He almost laughed at himself. Was it so easy to turn him soft? A few tears by a child?

He dropped three trouts by the fire, to announce his presence, but she did not seem to mind. She went on with her sobs, and Sandor was left with nothing to do, or say, to claim her attention.

He retreated to a tree, and began to clean his sword, seeing that the blade was sharp. It was, of course. He took care of it every fucking day, but he needed something to do, desperately, something to muffle the noise of her sobs, and the familiar noise of a whetstone on steel made him calmer.

After a while, she went quiet. Samdoe pretended not to notice.  

She got up, and started cleaning the fishes, removing their skin and scales, in silence. She put them aside. There was a small hare he had taken as well, figuring meat would be better for her than just fish.

He had told her how to skin a rabbit, but she had always refused to try, or to see him do it. Not, as she took the dead creature in her hands, she was shaking.

He let her try on her own for a while, until she bent again, crying once more, even more pitifully.

So Sandor got up and went to her, squatting by her side.

"I - I - can't" she blabbered."I can't do it".

He took the hare and the knife from her, gently enough, and thus earned a look from her, watery and tense. He made a small cut on the back of the rabbit's head. "That's how" he said, dryly, as the girl, for once, watched. He skinned the beast slowly, not forcing her to look. But she tried.

When he was done, she nodded. Next time, she seemed to be telling him with her glance, I will do it... but Sandor knew he was not going to ask her to. He was sick of her tears. He was sick of having her crying her heart out, because he would not soothe her, as much as he might want it.

"I am sorry I am so useless" she whispered then, her eyes cast down. He turned to her, surprised.  

"Thought I told you to quit apologising" he told her, so filled with fury again she started.

"You did" she said, weary. "But if I am sorry, what am I supposed to say?".

"Nothing" he rasped, cruelly. "You don't have to say anything to me. I don't fucking care".

Sansa nodded. "I see". She looked so miserable then, averting her gaze from him, refusal burning so plainly he felt guilt again.  

"No more tears" he snapped, when he realised her eyes were wet again. "No more fucking tears. I have had my fill of them, and they will get you to nothing".

It was not what he had planned on saying. He had meant to find words soft enough to make her feel less afraid, less hurt, but he could not do it.

She brushed the wetness away obediently with the back of her hand, but her hands were shaking like leaves in a storm, and he knew she had not understood why he could not stand he crying. It was not that he found her a nuisance - not only that. He could not stand her crying all the time. He could not stand the thought that he was failing her, as if keeping her safe wasn't enough, as if all his efforts were wasted.

"You think I am cruel" he stated after a while. "You have the right of it. Hate me, if you will. But get used to it, and don't bother me if you can't".

Again, he had not thought of saying it. The Hound was speaking, and Sandor felt somewhat torn in two, like a witness in a murder who found himself involved in it, without wanting it.

"Why does it always have to be like this with you?" she cried out. "What have I done to you to make you hate me so much?"

"Quiet" he growled like a threat.

"I won't let you command me as if I was five years old!" she said, with scorn. "And I want to know why you are so afraid that I should stop hating you!".

"Quiet, I say!" he snarled, jumping to his feet.

She backed away in fear, and that made him even agrier than before... Because she was right. He was afraid that she should stop hating him, for then she might one day stop liking him as well. He was afraid of it, and he was afraid of being afraid.

The Hound knew no fear but that of fire.

"Another word and I will hurt you, you'd best believe it" he warned her. Rage had washed over him like liquid wildfire.

"Do it" she challenged him. She stood proud in front of him, chin raised. "Hurt me!".  
He did not. He went for the nearest tree instead, punching it with a scream so loud birds flew in fear from it. "You are playing with fire" he told her then, and she gave him a look of fear and hatred, but also of pity.

"Don't look at me like that, girl" he snarled. "I never lied to you, telling you I was a fucking septon. You knew who I was when you followed me".

"Yes" she said. "And that man is not the one I see now".

That cut deep, deeper than she could think. He relaxed, overwhelmed by his inability to make things better. They would never get better, he had learned.

"You don't have to be angry with me" she told him, softened. "I am not your enemy".

"People only have enemies, little bird" Sandor said. All rage had fled, leaving only an empty shell behind. "Don't let yourself believe any different".

"You don't believe it either" she insisted. "You want to believe it, but you don't".

He shook his head.

"I will get you to Dorne" he spoke slowly. "I have lost everything, girl. There is nothing for me, anywhere. Might as well make sure you are safe. Mayhaps I will find something there for me too".

"Like what?".

"Bugger me if I know".

"If we survive... If we survive, and the war is won, you could serve Robb. He would be grateful for... For protecting me. And he might need a brave warrior like you".

He chuckled without myrth. "Your brother has your father's sense of honour. What did your father do with turncloaks?".

She but her lip. "He would not kill the man that has saved me from that.... That monster".

"Maybe not. But that does not mean he would welcome me into his household. He would be wise not to. A dog who bites the man that feeds him can do it a second time".

"But you wouldn't, would you? Robb is honourable, and you would have no reason to leave him. And I would tell him as much".

"And how would the bird like that?" Sandor asked. "Having to face me every day, having to look at me in the face?".

She blushed slightly. "I would not care. I wouldn't mind. There are scarier people in this world than you".

"Is that so?". Sandor snorted. He wanted to believe her, but he did not think it wise.

"Well, girl, it is a long fucking way to Dorne. We might both be killed on the morrow, for all we know. I'll try to keep you alive for now, and as for what follows, it is a question for another time".

"You are right" she agreed. "But... But whether you want a reward or not from me, I won't forget this. One day, I will repay you for your kindness".

  
He did not answer. She did not want to know that the only reward he wanted was her. Hells, he did not want to know it, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a lot of people have followed this story so far. I thank you all for your support and patience. This one is my longest chapter so far... I truly hope you enjoy :)

**Author's Note:**

> Another small thing I had written a few weeks ago. Posting it because - no reason.


End file.
